


Come over

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arguing, Blame Each Other Challenge, Blow Jobs, Hate Sex, Kinda, M/M, POV Harry, Post-Break Up, Post-Deathly Hallows, Self-Esteem Issues, probably not a tag i should use but it works with my fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 18:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: “You came,” Harry says, a little breathless.“I thought this was better said face to face, Potter, so you wouldn't misunderstand.” Harry has stood up, but is frozen in place by the cold tone of Draco’s voice and his rigid shoulders but what irks him the most is the way he says Harry’s name; like it's an insult again, like he can't even think it worth calling him by his first name anymore. “I am not your lap dog nor your to-go-to-guy. You have absolutely no right to barge into my life with fire-notes and pleads nor do I want you to. I do not sit around waiting for you all day, despite what you might think.Thiswas your own choice; deal with it however you please but do not drag me back into it because you’re miserable and lonely. Are we clear?”Or the one where Harry and Draco are broken up and there are too many things left unsaid.





	Come over

“ _Come over_.”

He writes it on a piece of parchment and flicks his wand towards it. The paper burns quickly and disappears without leaving a trace. Then he waits.

He's been lying in his bed all morning, staring at the dried bouquet of flowers on his desk and he's been _thinking_. It's never a good sign. The flowers remind him that it was so long ago, but it feels like it's been less than a week since they saw each other last. They, the flowers, have a dark brownish colour; when fresh they'd been a deep red and there had been ten but Harry had accidentally pulverised one, a few days ago when he was closer than he’d thought. The petals are somewhat crumpled and a few have fallen off, spreading around the vase. Harry picks one up as he waits, it doesn't weigh really anything and he crushes it between his fingers.

There is a small fire, and another piece of letter drops down on his desk just half a minute later.

“ _I am not a booty-call,_ ” it says and Harry groans.

He scribbles, _“And this isn't one. Please._ ” Sends it away.

 _“I have better things to do._ “

 _“Please._ ” He taps his fingers waiting for a reply.

 _“What is it with you and repeating yourself? You did the exact same thing when you broke up with me._ ”

 _“Draco…_ ”

 _“Fuck you._ ” Then Draco enters the room suddenly in a flash of green, transported by the Floo-network. He doesn't bother dusting off his robes, clearly, he intends to go back as quickly as he's come; Harry wants to reach out and do it for him. At first sight Draco looks _good._ Knocked back, can't breathe-sort of good.His hair is shaved at the sides and long enough up top to be pulled back into a small bun at the back of his head and Harry wants to know how it looks when he lets it out. The dark, emerald coloured waistcoat he's wearing almost has the same shade as the robe Draco once compared Harry’s eyes to, the black slacks fits him like all his tailored pants do (too good to be true), his back is straight, his head is held high and his thin hand grips his wand as elegantly as ever. It's not until Harry searches his face that he can see that the _good_ is just for show. His eyes are dull, a bit sunken in, his lips chapped and his jaw set too tight. Harry suspects it has little to do with the visit even if it might contribute a tad.

“You came,” Harry says, a little breathless.

“I thought this was better said face to face, Potter, so you wouldn't misunderstand.” Harry has stood up, but is frozen in place by the cold tone of Draco’s voice and his rigid shoulders but what irks him the most is the way he says Harry’s name; like it's an insult again, like he can't even think it worth calling him by his first name anymore. In a normal case, Draco would've stepped up to Harry, leaned in close and told him whatever was on his mind, but as for normal goes… this isn't. They haven't had normal in ages.

“I am not your lap dog nor your to-go-to-guy. You have absolutely no right to barge into my life with fire-notes and pleads nor do I want you to. I do not sit around waiting for you all day, despite what you might think. _This_ was your own choice; deal with it however you please but do not drag me back into it because you’re miserable and lonely. Are we clear?”

Harry is too shocked to say anything. Even if he knows things didn't exactly end in a way Harry is proud of, he hasn’t known of all the anger that seem to boil inside of Draco because of it. It is funny because Draco always finds ways to convey his hatred for everyone and everything and still Harry has seen none of this up until now. It makes him slightly uneasy. Draco’s expression is close to bored after which he flaunts a disgusted face as he looks around the mess of dirty clothes spread around the bedroom, forgetting that his own used to be mixed with Harry’s.

Then he breathes in sharply and steps up to the fire. “I came. I'm here; now, I'm leaving.”

“I miss you,” Harry says sincerely. Draco twists around on the spot so quickly it looks like he might break something. It's not just anger in his eyes; there's _rage_ and a thousand emotions Harry has never learned how to pick out.

“It's been months and the best you've got is “come over” because you “miss me”? I don't know if I should pity you or feel even more offended. You could've just written _that_ in your first message and I'd told you to fuck off immediately. Also, you have a funny way of showing it; never bothering to try and pick up contact again. Or you know, _apologise_.”

Everything he says drips of venom, he bites and attacks like they've never gotten past this stage, like they've never had normal conversations over dinner nor whispered confessions in the dark. It stings. More than Harry had expected. But he frowns because he doesn't understand; like it _matters_ to _Draco_ whether he would apologise. Draco left and never returned. Harry should get an apology too. Not just for that, but also for all the games Draco played with him. It was never just strictly forward, it was knowing smirks and dodging questions.

Harry sighs. “I didn't ask you here to fight, Draco.”

“So why did you, exactly?”

“I thought of the flowers.” Harry flails a hand to indicate them and Draco gives them a once over like they have personally offended him. It is his flowers. He bought them. “I thought of the flowers and I thought of you and I wanted to see you. Is that too distant a thought?”

“Yes,” Draco says like Harry just asked if it was weird that he flew upside down while doing cartwheels. “It's fucked up, Potter, and you have no right.”

“Is it fucked up that I missed you and wanted to see you? No, what's fucked up is that you came here to tell me you don't want to see me.” Harry hasn't realised until now that he's stepped closer, and that Draco has taken a step back towards the fire again. Draco scowls.Then he tells Harry to go screw himself before stepping into the fireplace.

“Malfoy Manor,” he says and disappears. Harry is so worked up, he steps right after him into the fire and screams the same address himself.

The Floo-network drags your body in all directions at the same time, in a different way than apparating does, and you have no time or ability to gather your thoughts once you're inside. The only thing Harry can think is that he's doing what he probably should've done months ago. Then he's being flushed out and he stands in the Manor for the first time in forever.

Draco turns around at the sound of Harry’s arrival and stares at him.

“Blaise.” Harry notices him first thing, sitting by the dinner table. Zabini waves. His presence makes Harry lose all of his momentum and he simply stands a few steps out of the fire place and his gaze is locked on Blaise. He's dressed in the same manner as Draco, formal but _more_ and Harry has to wonder whether it's a rich people thing, or a Slytherin one. He looks fitter than the last time Harry saw him and it doesn’t help because it just makes Harry wish even harder that he was him, at the same time as it makes Harry want to choke him, really slowly. Harry tries several times to say something but nothing comes out. No words are words he wants Blaise to hear. In his peripheral vision, Harry sees Draco straightening.

“You're not invited,” he says and Harry ignores that the dismissal is meant for him.

“Maybe I should leave,” Blaise says, but it's neither polite nor excusing. He smiles wide and unmercifully towards Harry, and keeps his place by the table.

Draco walks around it towards Zabini as he speaks. “It is not your fault Potter can't handle you, _darling_.” (Harry fakes throwing up at the word.) “He's just too insecure with himself when you're around.”

Draco stops as he comes up beside him, one hand leaning against the dark wood of the table and the other wrapped around one of the spiralling details of the chair Blaise is currently sitting on. They look like they could have been taken straight out of the editorial section of a high fashion magazine. The elegance of the Manor’s dining room, the dramatic contrast between the two’s skin tones, both of their unique looks and clothing styles, Draco’s fingers around the furniture and Blaise’s casually folded around one another, the way they hold themselves relatively to each other. It's just so bloody perfect and Harry feels like he might break down crying because it hits him once more that he was never enough for Draco and he never can be been either. He doesn't have _it._ They stare Harry down and he _almost_ falls for it and leaves.

Then, Blaise gets up instead. Him and Draco kiss each other’s cheeks in goodbye. Now Harry wants to puke for real. Draco’s eyes are fixed on Harry but he nods when Blaise whispers something in his ear and when Blaise steps away there is a sly smile forming on his lips.

“I'd say it was nice to see you again,” Blaise says over his shoulder towards Harry, “but-”

And then his words are cut off because he's disapparating. Draco faces Harry again and repeats that he's not welcome. As Harry gathers his thoughts and remembers why he's even here, he just stares at Draco.

“You left in the middle of an argument,” is what he settles on and it draws a cold laugh from Draco’s lips. It makes Harry feel uneasy. Draco laughs like that when he's particularly defensive, like when Harry had tried to talk about the war or the Dark Mark. He’s closed, locked and sealed, and Harry doesn’t know how to pry him open anymore, he doesn’t know if it would even be possible if he tried. He doesn’t know if he ever really succeeded before.

“I would peg you for a fool, Potter, but I do, in fact, know better. You come with a solid argument for why you’re trespassing and I might not press charges.”

“I just want to talk.”

“Isn’t it interesting, that it’s always when _you_ want something that I’m just supposed to give it to you? When suddenly you decide that ‘we’ again mean something. It’s interesting how my feelings aren’t, and never have been, considered, despite being half of that ‘we’-equation. Have you ever stopped to think about what I may be feeling, what I thought of you and me?”

“We were nothing to you,” Harry says with a frown.

Draco sneers. “Oh, was that how I thought of us? Might I ask _why_ I thought that? Was it because I had friends? Or, friends you didn't approve of? Or was it simply because I had a few that I had also slept with?” His words don't get the intensification they usually get because Draco is not moving towards Harry; normally he'd be all up and intimidating in Harry’s face by now but he's keeping his distance. It doesn't matter because Harry can hear Draco’s bitterness in the words, and the _confession_.

“So you have slept with Nott, too?” Harry asks and it's more than accusing. He feels betrayed even if they're not together anymore and he feels like crying again.

“Yes, Potter, if you must know. I have.”

He must ask, “And Pansy?”

“Don't be disgusting, Potter.”

Harry shakes his head, it doesn't matter, Nott and Zabini, then who else? And he mutters a quiet “I knew it” that isn't supposed to reach Draco’s ears but probably does anyway. His grin turning sour and he looks Harry down like he is vermin.

“Are you shaming me in my own home? And for what, Potter? For sleeping with a handful of people whom I have had strong, emotional connections to and felt safe with, as opposed to you: how many lost boys and wandering girls did you go through on your hunt to fill the emptiness? Thirty? Forty? Fifty? Triple digits?” Harry stands still, furiously flushed and shaking with anger but he doesn't say anything. Draco is right. Harry himself doesn't even know how many people there were, there were too many to keep count after a while. He probably wouldn't even recognise them all if he saw them on the street; even less remember their names. Feeling stupid and called-out, Harry shakes his head.

Draco snorts before saying, “If someone here should be called names for jumping beds, it sure as hell isn't me.”

“I nev-” but could he really say that? He didn't _remember_ what he said that night. It could've been anything. By the look on Draco’s face, Harry feels ashamed that he has forgotten because for a second the other man looks exasperated and undyingly hurt.

Then he says, coldly and distant, “You called me a slut and a cheater and you repeatedly told me you never wanted to see me again.”

Harry cannot look at him, because he might not remember saying it, but he remembers thinking it. Thinking that Draco and Zabini were going at it behind his back, that Draco would sleep with just about any man beside Harry just because he could. He always held Harry on a leash, one of mystery and it had worked, for a long time. It had kept Harry interested, to not be able to fully relish in what was Draco Malfoy, but as time progressed, there had come an edge to that. To realise that if Draco kept even small things from him, it meant he could keep _anything_ from him.

“I was upset. I… shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you believed it,” Draco says and he sounds resentful. “You still do. You cannot see what is right in front of you and you let your mind involve you in lies rather than seeing the truth. I did not touch another man from the moment I could have you. I didn’t want to. And if you think Blaise even tried getting it on with me after the two of us started going out, you’re not only stupid but oblivious as well. Blaise wouldn't fuck me if I cried and begged.”

“Why?”

Draco scoffs, like he knows something Harry should too, but Harry doesn’t. “Let a man have some self-dignity.” And Harry doesn’t know who’s dignity they’re talking about, he doesn’t know if Draco _wants_ to sleep with Zabini, if he _does_ , he doesn’t know. He hates it, because it’s the only thing that has put him in this place at all: he doesn’t know, and when he doesn’t know, he fills in the blanks. And right now, the canvas is clean, it is white, it is empty and Harry fills it with goodbyes. This is the end, the real end. This is where he leaves, and neither of them will ever come back.

He aches. He wants to punch the world, he wants to make it right but he doesn’t think that he can. He doesn’t know how to, he doesn’t know where to start. He could paint a pretty picture and he could fool himself to love it again, but the truth is simpler. He already loves it, messy and ripped at the edges, and it doesn’t matter if it loves him back or not, because they’ll never fit together well enough to see past the exterior. They will always be Harry Potter: the Golden Boy with golden skin and a lightning scar and, and Draco Malfoy: the Pureblood heir with a Dark Mark and platinum hair. It’s unfair to have tried to make this what it isn’t, because at least Harry really tried, he hadn’t cared, but as much as they’d both known how it looked, it’s now that it strikes Harry the hardest. Because it’s not fixable. He hadn’t even known how broken it was and now all he wants is to have mended, cared, earlier.

Harry cannot leave it like this. He simply can’t.

Stepping up to Draco is easy, because Draco doesn't step away. Harry isn't all that surprised to be honest. He takes it as a silent invitation, even if the thinks it might just be Draco trying to stand his ground. He places a hand on the back of Draco’s head and pushes his head down to meet Harry’s lips. They're still. Oh, so still. Harry tries to nudge, just a little, purses his lips to force a reaction from the other man and what he gets is Draco removing himself from the situation.

“You're not allowed to do that, Potter,” he spits and Harry feels like his heart is being strangled by a Devil’s Snare. He wishes himself back to a time where he was, where kissing Draco was not a coax but a necessity, where Draco responded to pecks by diving deeper, where the game was still fun, where Harry wouldn’t feel so pathetic just because Draco told him no. He wishes they could’ve had this, just once more and leave it in a place they both remember in full, where they mutually agree that there's not enough tape in the world to cover the cracks. Where they can leave softly and Harry thinks, when all is said and done, that maybe he just doesn’t deserve that.

“I fucking hate you,” Draco says, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“Okay,” Harry replies.

And then Draco gives in, with a displeased sound he mirrors Harry’s hand around Harry’s head and presses them even harder together than the first time. Then they're anything but still. It isn’t what Harry had expected, nor what he had bargained for. He’d wished for a kiss, a goodbye, a promise that they had been good even if just for a little while. What he gets, is Draco’s eagerness and knowledge, he gets teeth and tongue, he gets what he craves rather than wants. He gets what Draco told him he couldn’t have.

Harry finds himself automatically undressing Draco as Draco undresses him and it takes until buttons are undone, in shirts, in pants, before he realises what is _actually_ happening. He holds up; Draco does not.

“Wait, Draco, what are you- Why-”

And Draco looks him in the eye as he says, “Oh, this?” He reaches down Harry’s exposed underwear and grabs him hard enough to make Harry hiss. He strokes him, Harry losing himself in the feeling, in the pleasure it causes and he doesn’t want it to stop. Not even when Draco says, “This is a pity-fuck,” does he want it to stop. Harry reciprocates the gesture and Draco mutters through a rough breath, “I just have no idea who's pity-fucking who.”

“Draco-” Harry says and Draco stops him, nails digging into Harry’s neck.

“If you say _one more word,_ Potter, you’re out of here. Do you read me? One single thing and we’re done.”

Harry doesn’t want to start thinking about what that means, what implications it holds, because if he does, he won’t be able to accept what Draco offers. And Harry is not man enough to tell the blond that this is a bad idea. He wants it too much, whatever is coming, whatever Draco wants.

It’s not hate-sex when both involved loves the other. But somewhere, deep down they both are long past that love, somewhere, they’re feeding of resentment and self-hatred to guide them through this thing that should not be this good. They’re angry. They’re restless and they never got the chance to lash out once things had settled and now here they are, clothes disappearing, teeth finding lips and a thousand unspoken queues lets them keep going forward. Draco leans back against the dinner table, tousels Harry’s hair between his fingers, grabs it hard and forces Harry down on his knees.

“Open up, Potter.”

Harry could say no. This is just for show, he knows, Draco only ever _pretends_ to take. He could refuse and turn his head away and Draco wouldn't make him turn back, no matter the circumstances. Harry could tell him no; if he wants to. But he doesn't. So he parts his lips and Draco slides into his mouth so effortlessly it's like it's the only place his cock is supposed to be.

“Do you know how much you hurt me?”

Harry wants to look up but it would be impossible to focus on something other than to not choke so he doesn't even try. And Draco keeps going and keeps talking. “Do you? I don't think you do. You threw me out of _our home_ in a fit of jealous rage and decided that that was the last thing we were gonna have.

“After years of reconciliation and building trust and communication, you trashed it all because you thought I was a slut. And maybe I am, who am I to judge myself when you so clearly want to do it for me. I like sex but so do you and I didn't even know how that was a potential problem seeing as I _definitely_ am a former fucking Death Eater and _that_ wasn't even something you threw in my face.

“I don't even know what's more laughable: the fact that you thought that I couldn't keep away from Blaise when I practically couldn't keep my hands off of you or that you chose not to believe me when I told you the truth.”

Harry tries his best to get Draco to stop talking, by gripping his thighs, punching in his nails in the flesh but it's of no use and Draco just keeps shoving Harry’s mouth on his cock like he wants to take out all his anger by doing so. He can feel the tears burning in his eyes, and he doesn't know what else to do than to use all the tricks he knows to blow Draco so good he _can't_ continue talking.

It works. His next sentence is cut in half and replaced by sharp intakes of breath and then he's somewhat wincing and moaning and grumbling all at once. Harry doesn't feel in the slightest better by the silencing of words, but he keeps going because at least he doesn't have to hear anything else.

Draco doesn't give him a warning; he doesn't need to because Harry can feel it, hear it, when he's just about to come. Harry doesn’t move away despite not liking it this way, he lets Draco come down his throat.

The grip on Harry’s hair slackens and he stands up again, pressing Draco against the table and chases his mouth, hot and forceful. Draco doesn’t let it go long before he starts touching Harry again, Harry too lost in his arousal to stop now. Draco drops to his own knees then and Harry’s so hard, so hard, he’s craving release, but he finally catches up with himself. Does he want it like this, though? He doesn’t think it’s a good idea, he knows Draco, he knows this must hurt him as badly as it is hurting Harry, if not more. “Draco,” he says, “you shouldn’t do this.”

Draco snaps his head up and fixes Harry with a cold stare. “I thought I told you to be quiet? And also, I thought this was _exactly_ what a slut would do?” And then, he’s sliding Harry’s cock inside his mouth and Harry arches into the slickness. He feels disgusted with himself that he allows it, that he’s weak enough to take it and not care enough how bad it is. He just wants and he can trick himself for a few minutes into thinking that this is still what they do, this is not the last time, this is them, coming back. Restarting, continuing. It’s a fantasy, but it brings him to the edge, it brings him more joy than he wants to ever allow himself a dream, and it makes him gasp Draco’s name as he comes, like a whisper to the past and a prayer to a future that will never be.

Before Harry has even caught his breath, Draco has them both cleaned up and dressed with small flicks of his wand and Harry catches his wrist before he can step further away. What he wants to say gets stuck in his throat so he pushes forward and this time, the kiss he delivers is the one he had thought to give the first time.

Draco is the one to end it, to step away and rid himself of Harry’s grip. “Leave now,” is all he says and Harry’s words are once more choked back down his throat. He tries to speak but even if he could, Draco interrupts. “I don't want to hear it. I have nothing left to say to you. Leave.”

Harry just looks at him, not moving a muscle and for some reason, Draco can’t seem to make himself make Harry leave with force. “How did we get to this point?” Harry finally manages to ask.

“You never came back, Potter,” Draco says, despite his earlier statement and when Harry draws a breath, he continues, “and don't you dare tell me that I was the one to leave because we both know that isn't really the truth.” He folds his arms over his stomach and he doesn’t look so aggressively defensive as he sounds; he almost looks sad. “I always knew that I, in the end, was never good enough for the Golden Boy but I hadn't imagined he'd give me up for something so stupid as an _idea_ that I wanted someone else.”

“You were more than good enough, Draco,” Harry says and Draco’s gaze is full of venom when their eyes meet. “You were everything I wanted, you just... kept me at arm's length, you never let me in, you didn’t allow me to try being enough even if I knew _I_ never would be. Muggle-raised, impolite and ill-mannered Harry Nobody could never begin to compete with the pure blooded upper-class men of the Wizarding World that you so easily flounce around with. I was never even close to the outer ranks of your league.”

Draco snarls. “Do you ever listen to yourself? Death Eater protege who helped kill the greatest wizard of all times and never had the courage to take a stand for himself, now supposedly good enough for the one and only Boy Who Lived, the saviour of Wizarding kind?” He shakes his head before adding, “Kindly fuck off, Potter.” Harry shakes his head in return, and instead takes a step forward.

“I… You _know_ I never saw any of those things like that,” he says. “You were just a boy, I was just a tool.”

“It doesn’t derail the truth; you might be able to kid yourself, but the rest of us live in the real world and here, Draco Malfoy doesn’t deserve Harry Potter.”

Harry wants to shake him, to make him understand that he’s wrong, that it has never been any if those things that has mattered, none of those things that has had Harry going out of his mind. Those were the things they told themselves before they started dating, those were the types of things they got over and left in the past.

“Are _you_ listening to _yourself_ right now, Draco? Nobody gets to dictate who does or doesn’t deserve _me_ , not you or the world or the bloody Ministry. I, Harry, don’t care. I wanted you, Draco, and no one else. I don't care if you’re a Malfoy or a Black or a nameless man with nothing but a cloak to his person, I want you either way.”

“Then you should’ve fucking made that clear!” Draco’s composed stature is gone, he shouts and he looks like he might cry but the gate that has been opened is not for tears but for truth and Draco lays it all on Harry like he finally can, like it has been on the tip of his tongue for longer than he can remember and now he has the opportunity to voice it. “Instead,” he starts, voice high pitched and he gets all up in Harry’s face, “I went around, dead scared that you would realise what a complete tosser you were for letting me anywhere near you, how stupid and reckless it was to let someone like me close. So I tried not to let you come too close, I stayed away from topics that were a disgrace to my name or could be so to yours. I couldn't tell you, talk to you about that because it would make empty promises break. You say I never let you in, not enough, and you’re _right_. I didn’t. But I do not regret it, because these past months has been bad enough, I cannot imagine how bad they would have been if I had had you completely etched onto my skin.” He’s breathing hard, he stands so close, Harry can feel the air coming out of his lungs as it hits him in the face and Harry can only stare at him, not believe what he has just been told, cannot believe Draco would do that, think like that, act like that, for so long.

“We went out for years,” Harry says, his voice thin.

“And all it took for you to turn on me and let me go was the idea of me being unfaithful,” Draco says and Harry can’t contradict him even if it was more than that.

Somehow they had both been so scared to fail to live up to be the person they wanted the other to have, that they had lost sight of the fact that they already had it. They had been together, and been afraid of losing it, and that had evidently been why they had lost it.

“That was… not because of you, Draco,” Harry says because how much he would like to shift blame from himself, no one but him had put Draco with someone else and called it the truth. “That was my shortcoming, that was my inability to trust without knowing, that was a display of my weakness rather than a lack of faith in you. I admit, my judgment made me think less of you, made me think many bad things and I am not proud of that. I know saying “I'm sorry” would be meek and probably highly offensive after all of this,” Harry says with a small gesture between them, “but please know that I _am_. I am so sorry. It's beyond even myself how incredibly short-sighted and paranoid I am and how I could turn something I made up in my own head into a weapon big enough to destroy what you and I had, what we could have had. I wish more than anything that I could go back and slap myself silly because I really do miss you, and us, _this,_ but I know it doesn't change a single thing now.”

Draco looks at him, tired and emotional. “I love you, Harry,” he says and it’s like how one would say that the weather is nice or that Harry’s shirt is green.

“I love you,” Harry responds in the same manner as the sky is blue and Draco is blond.

“Does that mean anything?” Draco asks and Harry wants to cry, because it should, it should, _it should_.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. He hurts, he knows Draco hurts too but can they do anything about this? Is this, this good thing they once had, something they can ever have back? With all cards on the table, could they do better? Harry’s not so sure about that, but he pathetically desperately wants it.

And Draco whispers back, “I wish it would.”

Maybe, Harry thinks, with time, with communication, maybe with openness and with the love that is already there, one day in the future, it can. One day, Harry will be able to tell Draco to “come over _”_ and instead if it being a plea for Draco to come see him, it’ll be a plea to get into Harry’s side of the bed. Maybe, if they want it badly enough, they can make love matter in such a way that it holds them together rather than scares them apart.


End file.
